


The Fallout

by RedHummingbird



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:50:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHummingbird/pseuds/RedHummingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>** SPOILER! **</p>
<p>Clarke stumbles across something devastating and she finds sympathy and support from a unexpected source. Set post 1x03, unlikely to be canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallout

Clarke crouched by the pond in the early morning light, filling up her canteen. She felt a sense of gloom, although she couldn't put her finger on why exactly that was. She should be happy; Jasper was definitely on the mend and it was thanks to her. And Wells, of course. Thank goodness he had recognized that plant as seaweed. Jasper wouldn't be alive otherwise.

She realized she felt gloomy because she’d spent so much time hating her best friend, for something he didn't do. She should have known he hadn't  He’d always been trustworthy and a good friend to her. Why would he have sold her father out based on that one conversation with her? Of course, thinking about that just reminded her what her mother had done, and she didn't want to think about that either. Basically anything that she thought about just made her gloomier.

It wasn't just her past that was depressing to think about. There were all the other problems that plagued them. The Grounders, keeping their group from accessing the supplies at Mount Weather; Bellamy, trying to lead them on the path to sure destruction. And who’s to say the group wasn't already on the way there. The entirety of the 100 were criminals in one way or another. They had been abandoned by their elders and left to survive without any support. No wonder some of them were cracking up. There had already been two people go missing with no word. Little Charlotte seemed to be almost beyond help. Clarke’s heart ached as she thought of the little girl and her tear-streaked face.

Her bottle was full. She stood and stretched, taking a moment to appreciate the cool crisp morning air and the feeling of the first rays of sunshine hitting her skin. She didn't think anyone else was awake and she was enjoying the silence and peacefulness. Standing here by the watering hole, surely she would be forgiven in thinking that the wicked and murderous human impulses that had driven Earth to ruin were finally banished. Sadly, she knew that not to be true. Whether on the Ark or on the Ground, people continued to do wicked things. The only thing she could do was to try and take the moral high ground, and do her best to make things better.

A solitary bird whistled its first notes from a tree high above, and she took that as a sign she should return to camp before the others started to stir. She walked back a different way than she had come, enjoying the opportunity to explore the surroundings and hopefully stumble across something new and beautiful. Sadly what she stumbled over upon her arrival to camp was a body – that of her friend Wells.

She let out a short scream and then a hacking sob, and fell heavily next to his body. She desperately reached out to his throat, where the dried blood had congealed. She knew that he was gone, but it didn't stop her frantically trying to find a pulse. “Wells!” she cried, now sobbing in earnest, hugging her friend to her. Her only real friend, who had been at her side for years, always there, even when she thought he had betrayed her and she ordered him away. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't have come on this mission. He would have been safe on the Ark. The thought sent guilt coursing through her body, and suddenly she felt herself on her knees retching up the water she had just drunk.

The sounds of her frantic sobbing and retching drew the attention of those sleeping nearby, who drowsily began to stir. One teenager sat up and frowned when he saw the blonde daughter of the Councillor on her knees, throwing up, close by. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he mumbled, pulling himself to his feet and ambling over to her. When he saw Wells’ body, he cried out and turned away. “Oh my God,” he said. “I better go get Bellamy.” Clarke was too distraught to respond. She laid her head on Wells’ chest and continued to sob, as he lay there, staring sightlessly into the sky.

…

The teenager ran straight into the middle of camp and past Bellamy’s guards, sprawled outside his tent, ignoring their indignant shouts of “hey! You can’t go in there!”

“Bellamy,” he said, and the self-declared leader rolled over from where he’d been lying in a half doze. He sprang to his feet, knife clutched in his grip. “What are you doing?” he growled, and the teenager whimpered. “That guy Wells, he’s dead. The princess girl, she’s out there sobbing over his body. There’s blood, man. Its awful,” and his face contorted.

Bellamy took all of this information in and processed his options quickly. “Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.” He kept the knife in his hand, but dropped it to his side. The teenager nodded, fighting back tears, and exited the tent.

Murphy and his sidekicks were standing at this point, glowering at them both; Bellamy nodded to them to follow. They covered the distance in quick time and Bellamy found himself staring at the golden-haired Princess. He couldn't help but feel some stirring of sympathy; those two had obviously been close, arguments or not, and he knew how terrifying it was to lose the only person in the existence that you were close to. An unbidden memory of the Ark guards dragging Octavia away flickered in his mind. His voice surprisingly gentle, he found himself saying, “Princess, come on,” and was rewarded by Clarke suddenly boosting herself to her feet and throwing herself at him, fist clenched and fury in her eyes. “You did this!” she cried in anger.

“No I didn't! I didn't touch him,” he asserted coldly, any earlier sympathy dissipating.

“Well then it was one of your goons,” she said, glancing condescendingly at Murphy and the others, clustered a little behind Bellamy. “ Wasn't this exactly what you threatened would happen?”

Bellamy glanced at them as well. “No, it wasn't them either.” His voice wasn't as sure as before, however, and Clarke saw red, pummeling his chest with her fists. Murphy dragged her off, as she kicked and screamed at Bellamy and the rest. He stepped up towards her as Murphy held her arms and said softly, “Calm down, Princess. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” He then flicked his eyes up at Murphy and instructed him to take her to the ship. Hopefully Octavia could get her to calm down. He was never much good with crying girls. Clarke made as if to fight it, but Bellamy stared her down. “Let us bring the body up to camp. You need to go check on Jasper anyway.”

She finally went limp and nodded, acquiescing silently, and let Murphy lead her up to the ship while the others set about moving Wells’ body back to the camp.


End file.
